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LYRICAL P?I E CF.$. Full many a gay, and vgzied fio?er 'The rich parterre supprOs; But I bethink me of the bower,' Where my sweet violet lies. 279 ' Thine artless love is mo?e than wealth, Than learning, pomp, to me, And sweeter too,'because, by stealth Alone, I think on thee. Others are good, or wise, or fair, And, ev'n, thy lot above, May Art's or Nature's bounties share, But, ah, they cannot love ! Oh, how professions, forced and cold, Pall on the sick'nlng ear, And courtesies, the dross of gold, As dull, as insincere ! Oh, how attentions, slow and cifill, Awake untam'd disgust, Still offer'd less, because they w///, Than that they deem they ......... ?Google
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